


Easier to Understand

by disarm_d



Series: Sweater Vests [2]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Sexual Repression, UST, sweater vests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-20
Updated: 2008-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-12 16:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4486965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disarm_d/pseuds/disarm_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> He chooses Brendon over and over again in the only ways that he can.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easier to Understand

**Author's Note:**

> [ Sweater vests](http://disarm-d.livejournal.com/tag/sweatervests) continue to be an ongoing obsession of mine. I don't know that you necessarily have to read the other stuff to read this, but it'll probably make more sense that way.
> 
> Many thanks to [](http://sociofemme.livejournal.com/profile)[**sociofemme**](http://sociofemme.livejournal.com/) for the beta and suggestions and to [](http://sunsetmog.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://sunsetmog.livejournal.com/)**sunsetmog** for being British. ♥
> 
> This continues to be incredible historically inaccurate. Pretend that it's set in Britain, some time that isn't now (like the 1960's-ish).

> Now, I know it’s no more  
>  possible to own a moment  
>  than a person, but sometimes  
>  we can settle into one,  
>  like a tide returning from the shore,  
>  a soft relaxing back into the sea.
> 
> Wind slides the unlatched door  
>  open, mist from the rain  
>  catches the ends of your hair.  
>  On the tips of your fingers,  
>  my body seems achingly beautiful.
> 
> Today, we could begin to grow  
>  back every limb we have lost.

  
From [ The Tips of Your Fingers ](http://community.livejournal.com/theysaid/1039324.html) by Andy Weaver

 

 

 

 **one**.

 

Spencer's scone is dry. All scones are dry, but this one is even drier than usual. He smothers it with jam, then gets annoyed when his fingers end up sticky. He's in public, sitting in the middle of the dining hall, but the napkin just isn't helping, and Spencer just can't be bothered with decorum this morning. He lifts his hand to his mouth and starts trying to suck his fingers clean, licking over the knuckles and sucking his fingertips into his mouth, tonguing his nail beds.

"You're disgusting," Ryan says from beside Spencer.

Spencer starts turning toward him. He's considering whether or not to rub his spit slick fingers into Ryan's ear, or something equally annoying, when he catches sight of Brendon, who stands at the other end of the room, just stands and watches in Spencer's direction. They make eye contact, and Brendon stands still, staring across the room.

Spencer pulls his hand away from his mouth and ducks his head, staring down at his plate.

"You're disgusting," Spencer mutters belatedly, kicking sideways at Ryan's shin, but just halfheartedly.

\--

Spencer holds the tip of his pen to his notebook, letting the ink bleed into the paper. The lecturer is writing something on the board, and Spencer knows he should be taking notes, but he drifted off and missed the beginning of the equation and now he's totally lost. He should still start writing; it's easier to fill in a missing piece later than to start from scratch, but he can't bring himself to start writing.

There are another fifty-three minutes left of the lecture and Spencer should stop watching the clock. Spencer wonders which lecture Brendon is in right now. He can hardly keep track of his own schedule. Brendon might be in German. He's good with languages, better than Spencer is. Spencer failed his last French exam because Brendon came to his room to help him study, and they ended up closing the door instead. That was a while ago. It's been a while.

Spencer moves his pen to a new spot on the otherwise blank page.

\--

 

 

 **two**.

 

 

"You've got your exam first thing tomorrow, right?" Spencer asks. He sits on the floor in Brendon's room, leaning back against Brendon's bed. Brendon sits at his desk, flipping through a huge pile of notes and rubbing his eyes a lot.

"Um, yeah," Brendon says. It takes him a long moment to pull his attention away from his notes, but when he does, he turns around and looks at Spencer. "Bright and early."

"Alright," Spencer says. He pushes himself off of the floor. "I'm going to let you get an early night then." He hasn't really been doing anything other than sitting on the floor and flipping through a textbook, but Brendon seems to be getting more and more nervous. Spencer's spent more time watching the tense line of Brendon's back than reading the contents of his book.

He stands and walks over to lay a hand on Brendon's neck, bending over to say, "Go to bed, now."

Brendon tilts his head up, and their heads are close, their faces just inches apart. Brendon looks tired, his hair fluffing up in all directions because he keeps tugging at it. Spencer's thumb brushes the back of Brendon's neck, where the collar of his shirt starts. Brendon's wearing a long sleeved button-up shirt, but still Spencer can feel the heat of his body.

Spencer's breath stalls in the back of his throat, and he stands frozen for the time it takes for Brendon to blink, and then he pulls back.

They've left the door open. They're just in here studying, just studying. There's no reason to close the door.

Spencer walks to the bed to grab his satchel, and then he's ready to leave. Brendon stands, holding the back of his chair with one hand.

"Don't stay up all night fussing," Spencer says.

"I won't," says Brendon. "You, um, you have everything?"

"Yeah," says Spencer. He slings his satchel over his shoulder. "Good luck tomorrow."

He and Brendon both look toward the open door, but there's the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, so instead of shutting the door, Spencer just walks past Brendon, cupping his elbow in passing and giving him a quick squeeze.

He calls, "'Night," over his shoulder, and walks back to his own room.

\--

Spencer brings his textbook into bed with him, but still he can't get any reading done. He stares blankly at the pages and thumbs the sharp corner of the book absentmindedly. He wonders if Brendon's in bed yet, or if he's still sitting at his desk. It's been-- days at least, lots of days. It's been a long time since he and Brendon have had the door closed. It's been a long time since Spencer's been able to turn his brain off long enough to concentrate on his work.

It's annoying to want like this, this constant distraction as he's trying to go about with the daily business of living.

Brendon's room is just down the hall from his this year. They're just separated by doors, but when Spencer lies in the dark, his sheets pulled up to his neck as he chases an elusive thread of sleep and hopes to follow it all the way down, those doors feel as vast as countries.

\--

 

 

 **three**.

 

Spencer has a break between lectures and he runs back to his room to drop off his sweater. It's unusually warm for autumn, and he doesn't want to have to carry the sweater around all day.

As he's closing his door, he sees Brendon out of the corner of his eye, walking down the hall.

He clicks the lock, and says, "Hey. Where are you heading off to? I'll walk with you."

"Nowhere, really," Brendon said. "My tutorial was cancelled so I've got some time to kill. You want me to walk you somewhere?"

"I've got some time between lectures," Spencer says, shrugging. "You want to just wander around for a while?"

"Yeah, sounds good," Brendon says. "The woods?"

Spencer nods, and they walk down the corridor together.

The woods are still part of the university campus, bordering the east side. The leaves are starting to change colours, and as Spencer and Brendon walk down the path, the fallen leaves crunch under their feet.

Spencer loosens his tie, unbuttoning his cuffs and the first button at his collar. Brendon slides off his cardigan, holding it folded beneath his arm.

The woods are still part of the campus, and they could pass another student at any moment, but walking underneath the curtain of red and gold leaves, Spencer feels like it's just him and Brendon.

They sit on a huge log. Spencer digs his fingers into the bark, where it has started to rot into mulch and now smells like earth. The bark crumbles away, a rust red, under his fingertips. Spencer makes himself stop because he doesn't want to stain the white fabric of his shirt.

Brendon sighs and Spencer can feel it. Brendon's arm pushes into his own when he inhales, then moves away slowly as he exhales. It feels like they're a little closer than when they started though, for Spencer can still feel just the hint of pressure when Brendon's arm brushes his own. Their knees are just touching, the black fabric of their trousers pressed together.

Spencer uses his other hand to brush off the dirty one, then puts both hands on the log, just behind himself. He holds himself up and he tilts his head, stares up at the sky, watches the white of the clouds as they break over the horizon. From this angle, he can't see Brendon, and is instead just barely aware of him in the corner of his peripheral vision. He can see a tiny smudge of black hair, and he thinks that Brendon must have his head bowed, looking down at the ground. Spencer can hear the leaves rustling, even though he can't feel any breeze on his face.

"Do you have the time?" Spencer asks, dropping his head to the side and looking at Brendon out of the corner of his eye.

"No," Brendon says. He tugs his sleeve back with the other hand, tilting his bare wrist toward Spencer. "We should probably go back though."

Spencer pushes himself to his feet, dusting off the back of his trousers. He raises his hands to pull his tie tight, and as he's lowering them again, Brendon reaches out. Spencer freezes and Brendon pulls off the twig stuck to the cuff of his shirt. He gives the fabric a little wipe with his fingers and his thumb brushes the back of Spencer's hand.

Spencer wants to catch Brendon's hand with his own, but they're standing right in the open, and even though it feels like only the two of them, someone else could easily come along.

Brendon pulls his hand back, gives his cardigan a shake and then throws it over his shoulder.

The trees are tall, and the path weaves around the huge trunks. Spencer thinks that if he stood behind a tree, no one would be able to see him from the other side. They walk down the path and Brendon's shirt sleeve brushes against Spencer's shirt sleeve. Spencer stretches out his arm, just a little, so that next time it's their arms that brush, not just their shirts. Brendon doesn't pull away, and their shoulders bump together, too, and the backs of their hands.

Up ahead, a group of students are running in a line, wearing bright red gloves and small white shorts. Spencer moves to the left and Brendon moves to the right, and the runners pass between them.

\--

 

 

 **four**.

 

Brendon has been muttering under his breath for the last half an hour, which means that he's having trouble with his exercises. He keeps rubbing the back of his neck, his fingers twisting little red spots onto the pale skin. Spencer wishes that it was his hand on Brendon's neck, but they're in the library, and there are other people around who might see.

"Going well?" Spencer asks.

Brendon digs his fingers in harder, exhaling sharply before he says, "Yes. Fine."

Spencer slides his foot over until his shoe bumps against Brendon's shoe, but Brendon is pushing forward, reaching for another book, and he moves away shortly after the contact was made.

Spencer crosses his ankles, tucks his feet under his own chair, and tries to focus on his own books.

"Are you going to the dance tonight?" Brendon asks, suddenly.

"I don't know," Spencer says. "Maybe? I don't usually go."

"I think I want to attend," Brendon says.

"Ryan's going," Spencer says. "Jon, too."

"They've got girlfriends," Brendon says.

"You can go to the dance without a girlfriend," Spencer says.

Brendon shrugs. "Not much to do at a dance without a girlfriend."

"If you really want to go, I'll come," Spencer says. "We can just stand and watch or whatever. Then you'll have someone to talk to."

Brendon thinks for a moment, then says, "Alright."

\--

 

 

 **five**.

 

Spencer jiggles his cup and leans back more fully against the wall. He and Brendon are standing beside the stacks of chairs, and there's a reason why Spencer doesn't usually go to dances, but whatever, he's here now. Ryan's dancing with Keltie on the dance floor and Jon's dancing with Cassie on the dance floor, and Spencer's leaning against dry wall, standing beside Brendon. Jon isn't even attending this term; he's just here as Cassie's date.

Spencer turns his head, a sarcastic quip on the tip of his tongue, but when he looks at Brendon, Brendon isn't looking at him. Brendon's watching the dance floor, staring wistfully at the couples dancing.

Spencer wouldn't know what to do, even if he did have someone he could dance with, but Brendon probably knows.

Spencer runs his thumb along the rim of his cup. He looks at Brendon again and says, "You should go find someone to dance with."

Brendon snaps his head to the side, meeting Spencer's eyes. He raises his eyebrows.

"Go," Spencer says. "Dance."

Brendon hesitates for half a breath and then says, "You sure?"

"Yeah, go for it." Spencer's about to say that he's just going to head back to the halls of residence anyway, but Brendon's already looking away. There's a girl that's been standing nearby them for most of the night, and, yeah, that's where Brendon heads.

Spencer waits until Brendon's talking with the girl, and then he turns around. He waves goodbye to Ryan as he passes by on his way to the exit, and Ryan looks away from Keltie long enough to mouth, _Bye, Spence_.

Spencer walks back to the halls. It's late and the corridors are empty. Spencer walks slowly, trailing his fingers along the wall as he makes his way to his bedroom.

He turns on the record player and keeps the volume low, even though there's no one around to be disturbed by the noise. He pulls off his jumper and his vest and his tie and his shirt until he's just in a short sleeved shirt and trousers, and then he stretches out on his bed, on top of the bedspread. Brendon should get to dance if he wants to, and Spencer can't. They can't do that.

If he wants to, Brendon should dance, even though it can't be with Spencer.

\--

 

 

 **six**.

 

It's been-- two weeks, at least. More than two weeks. It's been a long time since Spencer did more than sit beside Brendon when they were alone in a a room together.

Sometimes it's easier when he and Brendon have some distance, easier to concentrate and easier for Spencer to feel like he's interacting with his world instead of living inside of his head.

It's been weeks since they've been alone somewhere with the door closed, which was fine except that now it's been three days since Spencer's seen Brendon at all.

During the days, Spencer managed to get through twenty-seven of the problems from the back of his physics text. The professor said that three would be on the test, exactly from the textbook, but he didn't say what ones. Spencer was trying to get through all the odd numbered questions.

He got through twenty-seven of the questions and then he just stopped. He took his books to the library and found a quiet spot and covered his file paper with doodles, rows of circles and triangles with dark shading in between the shapes.

On the fourth day he skips his lectures to stand outside of Brendon's seminar, waiting until the seminar is dismissed and then walking casually down the corridor, trying to bump into Brendon without it being obvious.

"You haven't been at breakfast," Spencer says quietly, walking beside Brendon. They are two of a crowd, making their way out of the building.

"I haven't been hungry," Brendon says.

Once outside, he pulls his jacket closed and starts to do up the buttons. Spencer leaves his open; it's not that cold.

"My sister came on Monday," Brendon says. "She was taking her kids on a trip into town, and they stopped by the halls of residence."

"How old are the children?" Spencer asks.

"Four and seven. Cody's learning about dinosaurs in school, now. He started drawing a tyrannosaurus for me, but then they had to go because their dad was going to pick them up at four."

"I didn't know if you still talked to your family," Spencer says. The crowd has finally dispersed, and it's just the two of them walking across the grass field.

"They didn't want me to come here for university," Brendon says. "It was, it was hard for a while, but we're still really close, you know? I've got, I've got lots of siblings and they've got lots of children, and we were all really close, even though it was strained when I first said I was going away."

"Why didn't they want you to go away?"

"My family's pretty connected in with the church," Brendon says. "I wanted, I mean, this is a bit of a different path." Brendon gestures vaguely toward one of the university buildings. "This is what I wanted though."

"Yeah," Spencer says. There's this pressure in his throat, and he tries to remember to swallow it back. He knows what's coming. He knew this was coming, eventually; that it was just a matter of time.

"My sister invited me over for Christmas," Brendon says. "The big Christmas dinner is going to be at her house this year, and she said that I should just stay at her place for the Christmas holiday."

"That's great," Spencer says. He looks down at his shoes as they walk across the field. It's damp, so the grass is a little dewy. Spencer will have to wipe his shoes off when he gets to his room; maybe with some shoe polish. There's a scuff across the right toe of Brendon's shoe, but Spencer's is a still a shiny black.

"Yeah," Brendon says. "I'll get to see the my nieces and nephews, and that'll be wonderful." He doesn't say anything for a minute, and then he says, "I really like children," and Spencer swallows and then forces himself to pull his shoulders back, to raise his head. The library is in front of them, on the other side of the grass. Spencer will walk to the library.

Brendon says, "Spencer--" and Spencer already knows how this is going to go. He doesn't need to hear it.

"I've got this, this physics exam, so I've got to-- I'm going to go study now," Spencer says. He looks forward at the library, doesn't look at Brendon walking beside him. "So-- okay," Spencer says. "Okay. I guess you've been eating early or something, but, so, okay. You can come to breakfast whenever you want. That's all I wanted to say; you don't have to worry about when you come to breakfast, I'm not going to, ah, yeah. Okay."

Spencer pulls his satchel up higher onto his shoulder and then he reaches to pull together the flaps of his jacket, buttoning the buttons. He looks down at his fingers, looks forward at the library, and then eventually Brendon isn't walking beside him anymore.

Spencer tucks his fingers under the strap of his satchel and exhales slowly.

He walks into the library and sits down at a study carrel. His heart is pounding, but all he did was walk across a field and that hardly counts as physical exertion.

\--

Spencer's staring blankly at the wall in front of him when a hand touches his shoulder. He jumps in his seat, whipping his head again, Brendon's name on the tip of his tongue, but it's not Brendon standing beside him.

"What're you up to?" Ryan asks.

Spencer looks at his books on the table and tries to remember what he's been trying to study. He shrugs.

"Ready for a break?" Ryan asks. "I need coffee before I can finish my essay."

"Yeah," Spencer says. "That sounds good." He starts gathering his books together.

"You alright?" Ryan asks, looking sideways at Spencer as they walk out of the library.

"Yup," Spencer says. "Fine."

\--

 

 

 **seven**.

 

Spencer exits the classroom, hesitating once he steps outside. The library has-- there's this particular smell to the library and all of the desks are just a little low, and Spencer doesn't know that he'll be able to get anything done there. He knows for sure that he won't be able to get anything done back in his room though.

He walks off campus and ends up at the cafe. It's after the lunch rush now, so there's a free table for Spencer to work at, and he doesn't have to feel guilty about sitting there all by himself.

He goes to the front and orders a sandwich and a cup of tea and finds Jon there, leaning against the counter and speaking with the employee.

"So I can hang these up?" Jon asks.

"Yeah, but you've got to remember to come and take them down again," the guy says.

"Of course," Jon agree. "Have you got a stapler I could borrow?"

While the guy goes on a hunt for a stapler, Jon turns to Spencer. "What're you doing here?" Jon asks.

"Just grabbing a bite to eat," Spencer says. "What are those?"

Jon passes one of the fliers to Spencer. "Tom and I finally organized an art show together," he says.

Jon's almost finished with university. He's been almost finished for a couple of years now, but he keeps taking semesters off to travel, or to take photographs, apparently.

Spencer studies the flier and nods his head, impressed.

"Right on," he says.

Jon bops his head and drums his first fingers against the counter. "It's going to be totally wicked. You have to come, yeah? Ryan already said he'd be there."

"Yeah, sure," Spencer says. "I'll come."

"Great." Jon collects the fliers again, banging them on the counter to square off the edges. "Well, I've got a whole stack of these to get through, so I'd better take off. See you there."

"Bye," Spencer says. He turns his head and watches Jon leave the cafe.

"What'll you have?" the guy behind the counter asks.

"A sandwich," Spencer says. "Whatever the special is."

He carries his food to the table and pulls his books out of his bag, setting everything out in front of him. He stacks his notepad and opens up his books and leaves his sandwich within arm's reach. He's missed the lunchtime rush, but there are still other patrons and the cafe is lively and noisy.

Spencer picks up his pen. He writes his name and the date on the top of the paper, then sets his pen down again. He fingers the crust of his sandwich but leaves it lying on the place.

He can hear voices but no words in particular, just a random tangle of sounds. It's too noisy to study here; he shouldn't have come. Maybe he should have offered to help Jon hang the fliers, something to keep his mind occupied. The exam is at the end of the week, though, so he doesn't have an afternoon to waste like that.

His ribs ache, right across his breastbone. He fingers the collar of his shirt, but doesn't rub his chest. He squeezes his hands together, then picks up his pen again. He should have gone with Jon. It's better when he keeps his mind occupied.

\--

 

 

 **eight**.

 

Spencer wakes half an hour early and sleep clings stubbornly even as he forces himself out of bed. There's time now. He has time, he can pop over to Brendon's room before breakfast.

Spencer slips out of his pyjamas and pulls on pants and an undershirt, a vest and a shirt. He finds a belt and laces up his shoes and opens his door and stands in the middle of the hall and remembers that, no, he can't go to Brendon's before breakfast.

His shoulders tighten, like his body is bracing itself, getting ready to run somewhere, even though he's just standing frozen.

A couple of students come walking down the hall and Spencer uncurls his hand and opens his door, walks back into his room and sits down on his chair. He grabs the nearest book and flips it open to a random page, setting it on the desk in front of him. Spencer is slow to wake, and Brendon was always too loud in the mornings, anyway.

Spencer likes children. He likes children and he would probably like dancing and he definitely would like not to have to worry about being caught, not having to worry about getting thrown out of university and about someone reporting them to the police.

Spencer fingers the edge of his textbook, flips between the pages. He pulls his hand away, rubs the back of his neck, then knocks the book off of his desk with one quick swipe of his hand. The book lands with a thud, face down, the pages fanning out and folding in. Spencer's so fucking sick of studying all the time.

\--

 

 

 **nine**.

 

"So, what do you think?" Jon asks.

Spencer has been intently studying a photograph of lights reflecting off the water. He blinks and says, "These are really fucking fantastic, Jon. I can't believe you and Tom took all of these."

Jon beams. "I'm glad you came."

"Yeah, of course," Spencer says. Someone else comes up to congratulate Jon, and Spencer continues walking around the room.

He finishes admiring the pictures on one wall and then turns. He doesn't know why he's surprised to see Brendon here, but he is. Brendon's standing with his hands clasped behind his back, leaning forward to look at one of the photographs up close. The thumb and first finger of his right hand circle the wrist of his left.

Spencer's still just standing there when Brendon finally straightens up, ready to move on to the next photograph. His gaze darts over to Spencer, directly over, like he's been tracking Spencer's movement through the room and already knows where Spencer is going to be.

When he sees that Spencer's looking back, he looks away, his head turning to the side, then back again.

He gives a little nod with his head and then smiles, just the corners of his mouth turning up. Spencer's still frozen and the movement of his head when he nods back is awkward and jerky.

He's seen Brendon around campus, usually just from a distance. Brendon only comes to breakfast sometimes, and he always sits at another table. Every time someone knocks on his door, Spencer opens it expecting to find Brendon standing in the corridor, but he's getting used to finding someone else.

Brendon walks over.

He says, "Really impressive, huh?" gesturing around the room.

"Yeah," Spencer says. "Jon and Tom did an amazing job with this."

Brendon nods.

Spencer tucks his fingers into his pockets, shifts his weight from one hip to the other, and pulls his hands free again. He tugs the hem of his sweater vest down.

"I'm going to head back to the halls, now," he finally says. "I just walked, so."

Brendon has been studying a picture just beside them, but his eyes snap back to Spencer, moving sharply. "I'll walk back with you," he says.

Spencer looks down. Says, "Brendon--"

The room is full of people, loud with voices. Brendon lowers his voice and says, "We're friends."

Spencer opens his mouth, but Brendon repeats again, "We're friends," before he has the chance to say anything.

"We're friends," Brendon says. "Our rooms are close together. I'll walk back with you."

Spencer closes his mouth, then nods, just once.

They say goodnight to Jon separately, but leave the gallery together.

They walk quickly down the street. It's dark and the night air is cold and crisp. Spencer has gloves, and Brendon tucks his hands in his coat pockets. They don't say anything, but just having Brendon walking beside him feels like a balm, feels like a shard of warmth, feels like it's tearing the hole inside of him open wide.

When they finally near campus, Brendon nods his head, gesturing to the path that cuts through the woods, leading back to the campus. Spencer follows him.

It's dark, and even though there're the lights from the road behind them, the lights from the campus somewhere up ahead, the full moon high in the sky, Spencer loses his footing, catching his toe on a thick root sticking out of the ground. He grabs Brendon's elbow before he falls, catching himself.

Brendon reaches for him, too, but once the ground stops moving, Spencer lets go of Brendon and steps back quickly.

"Sorry," he says, his voice caught in the back of his throat, and then again, " _Sorry_ ," because it's worse than he thought it would be, standing here in the dark beside Brendon. They've never been friends.

Brendon reaches for him again, cupping his hands around Spencer's arms. Spencer stands still and tries to breathe quietly, holding still under Brendon's hands. He wants to pull Brendon closer, but he'd rather just stay like this than risk Brendon pulling away entirely.

Brendon tightens his fingers and rubs his hands up and down. His hands are bare and it's a cool night; he's probably getting cold. His fingers make squishing noises rubbing against Spencer's jacket, and it's only because he's holding on tightly that Spencer can feel where he touches, layers and layers of clothing dulling the sensations.

Brendon takes half a step closer and Spencer's hands fly up, coming to rest on Brendon's hips. Spencer tilts his head and Brendon raises his chin, and they meet in the middle, their mouths banging together. Brendon's fingers are cold on Spencer's cheeks, but his mouth is warm. Spencer's fingers dig into Brendon's hips, pulling him forward, and Brendon moves closer, their bodies finally coming together. All Spencer can feel is the soft crush of their jackets pressing together, but it's good. It's good just having Brendon close like this.

After they get their mouths lined up and get over that initial shock of contact, the kiss slows down. They kiss and all Spencer can hear are the soft wet noises of their mouths moving, the rustle of leaves moving, the low sounds of traffic somewhere far away in the distance.

Spencer sucks on Brendon's tongue and something starts rushing around in his stomach. He wishes they weren't in their jackets because then he could feel Brendon's body. He wishes he could feel Brendon.

Brendon shivers and breaks the kiss. He sticks his icy fingers under the collar of Spencer's jacket, leaning his forehead against Spencer's and smiling. His fingers are freezing but Spencer doesn't try to move him away.

Spencer whispers, "This doesn't have to change anything. You can still go home for Christmas and you can still -- You don't have to give up everything."

Brendon exhales sharply, but he doesn't say anything.

Spencer closes his eyes and tries to match his breathing with Brendon's.

He waits until his legs are numb with cold and his cheeks and ears have started to burn painfully. "We should go," he says. "Someone else could come though here."

Brendon nods, his forehead moving against Spencer's. He strokes the downy hair just behind Spencer's ears with his thumbs and then pulls his hands away.

They walk back to the university.

Spencer's room is first along the corridor and he stands for a minute, fiddling with the key in the lock. He wants to ask Brendon to come in. He wants to ask Brendon to stay, but tonight is enough. What Brendon already gave him is enough for now. It's enough with Spencer feeling like he's going to fly out of his skin, like all of the wanting has been shaken loose and now it's floating free. He wants to ask Brendon into his bedroom and he wants to take off his coat and he really wants to take off Brendon's, but he just exhales slowly and says, "Thanks for walking back with me."

"You, too," Brendon says. "I mean, the same to you." Brendon's cheeks are flushed and his lips are dark red and wet because he keeps licking them. Brendon says, "Night," and Spencer walks into his bedroom and waits until he can hear Brendon open and close the door to his own room before he shuts the door. He clicks the lock into place and then pulls off his gloves, sliding down the zipper of his jacket.

He rubs the back of his neck and then starts moving around his room, getting ready for bed.

\--

 

 

 **ten**.

 

"Are we taking the partial derivative of Y with respect to X?" Spencer asks, lifting up his head and trying to see Ryan's sheet of paper.

"X with respect to Y," Ryan says, absently. He continues to write, but then pauses, lifting his head up. "No, wait, are we saying that time is the exogeneous variable?"

Spencer looks at his paper, looks over again at Ryan's, and then starts reaching for the textbook. As he stretches his hand forward, he glances up and notices someone standing in front of their table.

"I've got, um, the book you wanted," Brendon says, holding out a textbook. "You said you wanted to borrow it."

Spencer wrinkles his eyebrows together, but takes the textbook without questioning it.

"Thanks," he says.

"No problem," Brendon says. "Maybe you could bring it back to my room, tonight." Brendon's face is blank, except for the pale pink flush under his cheekbones.

"Yeah, sure," Spencer says, reminding himself not to let his eyes slide sideways to look at Ryan. "Yeah, 'cause you'll be needing that back, so you can-- write your essay."

"Right," Brendon says. "See you later." He looks at Spencer, then at Ryan, giving a little wave before he walks away.

"What's that for?" Ryan asks.

"Hmm?"

Ryan tilts his head toward the book.

"Oh, it's, ah--" Spencer glances quickly at the spine of the book. "Paradise Lost. Because I couldn't find my copy, and I just needed to double check something."

Ryan nods, then turns back to his assignment.

Spencer grabs his pencil, exhaling slowly through his nose.

"So you and Brendon are friends again?" Ryan asks.

Spencer whips his head to the side, but Ryan's just hunched over, chewing on the end of his pen as he studies his assignment.

"What?" Spencer asks.

"Brendon," Ryan repeats. "I thought maybe you guys had a falling out or something. Didn't see him around for a while."

"Oh, no," Spencer says. His heart is doing an annoying thing where it thuds loudly in his throat. "No fight. We were just, I guess, we were just a little busy. We were always -- friends."

"M'kay," Ryan says, and then he reaches for his slide rule.

"Okay," Spencer echoes, looking down at his own paper.

\--

 

 

 **eleven**.

 

Spencer gulps down his dinner and then makes himself wait in his bedroom for another hour before walking down the hall to Brendon's room. It's still early; he should have waited longer, but here he is, standing in front of Brendon's door.

He knocks, and Brendon yells, "It's open."

"I brought your book back," Spencer says and then closes the door behind himself.

Brendon's sitting on his bed. He has his pillows piled behind his back and his legs stretched out in front of himself. He's not wearing any socks and his trousers lift up to show the bare curve of his ankles, the sharp jut of bone.

Spencer sets the book on Brendon's desk, and walks over to the bed. He sits down, just on the corner of the mattress, and waits for Brendon to reach for him.

Brendon pulls him in closer, and Spencer sits, leaning over Brendon, his hands on either side of Brendon's body, holding up his weight as they kiss.

Spencer pulls away to breathe, but ends up chasing Brendon's tongue when Brendon licks his own lips. It's hard to hold himself up like this, but that helps. Something in the strain helps Spencer keeps his head.

Spencer kisses Brendon carefully until he loses himself in the easy slide of their tongues together. Spencer wants this so much it feels like there are sharp fingernails dragging up and down the inside of his rib cage, but he tries to remind himself that it's okay. It's okay, Brendon invited him here. He can have this right now and he can deal with not having this later. It's just a matter of time, but for right now Spencer has Brendon beneath him, curving up to meet Spencer's mouth, his hands clinging to Spencer's shoulders.

Brendon tugs and tugs until finally Spencer climbs onto the bed, properly, his legs tangling with Brendon's as he stretches out over him. Brendon murmurs happily, then pulls Spencer down for another kiss.

Spencer braces his elbows on either side of Brendon's head and looks down at him. He kisses him again, slow and lingering, and then pulls back and says, "I don't think I locked the door." It's as neutral as he can make it, but still he feels nervous as he waits for Brendon to answer. He holds himself carefully, ready to roll off and move to another part of the room. It's okay. It's alright, just being here is enough.

Brendon smooths his hand up Spencer's shoulder, cupping his palm around Spencer's neck. His hand is warm and a little sweaty and his thumb brushing over Spencer's skin sends shivers down Spencer's spine.

"We could go lock the door," Brendon says, his voice low and raw. He looks up at Spencer, looks Spencer right in the eye. Spencer tries to remember to breathe. He nods slowly. Brendon says, "Go lock the door," and Spencer's cock twitches in his trousers. He's holding himself carefully, so he doesn't think that Brendon will feel it.

Spencer rolls off the bed and walks over to the door. He's so hard that he knows he's walking funny and there's this giddy feeling in his chest, something like a hysterical nervousness, something like desperation. He walks to the door and he flicks the lock shut and then he walks back to the bed. He keeps his hands at his sides, even though it's really fucking difficult to keep from rubbing himself through his trousers, the thick fabric holding his erection back.

He walks back to Brendon's bed. Brendon is lying back, watching Spencer. His legs are slightly parted and his hands are clasped on his stomach. He should look relaxed; his posture is relaxed, but the lines of his body are tight and his eyes look anxious.

Spencer climbs back on the bed and straddles Brendon, his thighs bracketing Brendon's legs. He holds his weight up himself, hardly sitting back on Brendon. He puts his hands on the bed and leans down to kiss Brendon again, his back hunched in the bend to meet Brendon's mouth. Brendon grabs Spencer's shoulders. He keeps sliding his hands up and down Spencer's back, and pulling, trying to get Spencer's body closer. He keeps squirming.

When Spencer pulls back from the kiss they're both panting. Spencer sits back again, moves his hands from the bed to rest on Brendon's chest, just the flat press of his palms to Brendon's ribcage. He can feel Brendon breathing.

He soothes his hands down Brendon's sides, then reaches for the hem of his shirt, slowly working up the line of small white buttons. He moves methodically even though his fingers feel thick and shaky. Brendon's hands come up to cup Spencer's legs, his fingers digging into Spencer's thighs.

Brendon's stomach is flat and pale and Spencer can see the line of his ribcage. He runs his hands carefully over the skin, over Brendon's skin. He can feel Brendon shivering, little goosebumps raising in the wake of Spencer's light touch. Brendon's skin is warm and smooth and Spencer bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. They've done this less than a handful of times before. Spencer pulls Brendon's shirt apart, or Brendon unbuttons Spencer's, and they touch the revealed skin until it's too much to take, until they have to curve together and rub off against each other, both of them still in their trousers.

A soft flush spreads down Brendon's chest. Spencer sits back on Brendon's legs and stares at him. He can see the hard line of Brendon's cock, straining against the material of his trousers. Spencer leaves one hand pressed to the indent of Brendon's belly and trails the other one down, down past the waistband of his pants and he rests his palm over the line of Brendon's erection and Brendon's body jerks, his hips snapping off the bed, even with the weight of Spencer on his legs.

Spencer rubs up and down, slowly, gently. He's been biting his cheek for so long that he can't even feel it any more, so he switches to the other side and the first burst of sensation helps, but only in that moment. Brendon's shaking and his fingers are digging into Spencer's thighs. He looks like he's in pain, his whole face screwed up and every time he breathes it's this harsh, broken sound.

Spencer moves both hands to the fastening of Brendon's trousers. He thumbs the button and gives Brendon the opportunity to stop him. Brendon just continues holding tightly to Spencer's thighs, breathing loudly.

Spencer works the button open and then slides the zip down. His heart is pounding in his throat and his hands are shaking, but he doesn't want to stop. He will if Brendon asks him to. If Brendon wants to stop, Spencer will. He inhales deeply and then starts pulling down Brendon's trousers. Brendon lifts his hips, and it's so fucking hot watching Brendon arching off the bed that Spencer doesn't think he can stand it.

He closes his eyes briefly, just to centre himself, then pulls Brendon's trousers over the curve of his hips, lifting himself up so that he can pull them down past Brendon's thighs. He doesn't take them all of the way off, his hands already reaching for the waistband of Brendon's white shorts. He can see the bulge of Brendon's cock through his underwear, the little wet spot where Brendon has leaked through the fabric.

Spencer's fingers dig into the elastic waist and then his hands start pulling the shorts down without his brain being involved in the decision. He starts to pull and Brendon lifts up his hips again; Brendon helps. Brendon's hipbones jut out with the movement, his stomach flexing. Spencer pulls the shorts down and he can see the tension in Brendon's thighs from holding himself up like this, and he can see Brendon's cock. Brendon's cock bounces up when Spencer pulls the shorts down and Spencer's gut twists. Brendon's cock is dark red and resting against his stomach, his shorts and trousers tangled around his thighs. Spencer makes a low noise and Brendon opens his eyes, lifting his head a little to look down at Spencer.

They've never done this before, never taken off more than their shirts. Spencer's sweating, just from sitting here, just from looking at Brendon. His cock is throbbing painfully and his head is spinning. Spencer touches Brendon's cock with the tips of his fingers, touches smooth, warm skin and grits his teeth. Brendon makes a tiny noise, a little nasally grunt when Spencer slides his fingers over the head of Brendon's cock.

Spencer shuffles backwards. He doesn't think about it, just moves backwards and leans down and holds up Brendon's cock so that he can take him into his mouth. He closes his eyes and moves his tongue because he can taste Brendon, he can taste Brendon's skin and the taste is sharp when he licks over the head of Brendon's cock. Brendon smells strongly male, and Spencer's mouth waters.

He doesn't know what he's doing, doesn't know what possibly possessed him to do this. He knows this isn't right, but he's doing it anyway. He wraps his lips around the head of Brendon's cock gently, so gently, just moving his mouth in little bobs. Brendon's hands thump against the mattress, digging into the sheets. He makes this low crooning sound and his cock jerks in Spencer's mouth.

Spencer mouths carefully at Brendon's cock, sliding his tongue softly along the underside and holding the base loosely with his hand. Spencer licks over the head and licks over the head and licks and Brendon makes this garbled noise, his voice coming out thick and wet.

Spencer raises his head to look up at Brendon and Brendon's hand flies down to his cock, seemingly unconsciously. He gives one hard tug before he catches himself and forces himself to stillness. Spencer's cock throbs at the sight, giving a sharp jerk.

"Don't stop," Spencer says quietly. "Don't stop. Let me see." He blushes, and there's a cold sweat sending shivers up and down his spine. He feels too hot and too sensitive. He feels overstimulated, even though he's not being touched at all.

Brendon makes a helpless sound, starts to groan but bites it off quickly. His hand tightens on his cock and he pulls up and then pushes his hips into his fist, and it's so fucking dirty, watching the head of Brendon's cock push through the circle of his fingers. Spencer can't believe Brendon's letting him see this; he's terrified that Brendon is going to stop.

Brendon's other hand comes up, groping blindly. His fingers dig into Spencer's leg then reach for Spencer's hand. Spencer catches Brendon's hand and Brendon squeezes back tightly, clinging to Spencer as he jerks himself off.

He gasps and says, " _Spencer_ ," in this shaky voice. His body goes tight and then starts to tremble and then he's coming.

He's coming and Spencer forgets that Brendon's fingers are still tangled with his, pulls both of their hands over to press against his cock. He comes, too, just from the pressure of their hands on his cock through his trousers, orgasm crashing over him with an intensity that's almost painful. He slumps onto the bed, half on top of Brendon, still holding tightly to Brendon's hand.

He can't stop shaking and making these little noises. Brendon lies frozen for a minute and then he squirms around, wrapping his free arm around Spencer and crushing their bodies together. Spencer tucks his head into Brendon's neck and waits for his body to settle again.

Eventually he forces himself to lift his head away, embarrassed to be holding onto Brendon so tightly. His pants are gross and his shirt is wet with Brendon's come and Spencer's already starting to get hard again, but he tries to ignore that.

Spencer feels hollowed out and he feels like he's going to burst out of his skin.

Brendon runs his hand through his hair, then reaches for Spencer's face, touching his cheek carefully then sliding his fingers into Spencer's hair.

He says, "Stay. Stay here for tonight," and Spencer nods. He can sneak back to his room early the next morning. If he wakes up early enough he'll be able to make his way back to his own room without getting caught.

Brendon's hand cups the back of his head. He brushes his lips against Spencer's and then coaxes them both out of bed.

They stand in the centre of Brendon's room and slowly undress each other. Spencer undoes the buttons on the cuff of Brendon's shirt and then pulls off one sleeve, then the other. He drops Brendon's shirt on the floor. Brendon opens the top buttons of Spencer's shirt, then grabs the hem and pulls it carefully up. Spencer raises his arms and is momentarily blinded by the material covering his face. He blinks. Brendon pulls the shirt up and over Spencer's head and then Spencer can see Brendon again.

They work together to get Brendon out of his trousers, the material bunched and tangled around his knees. Brendon holds onto Spencer's shoulder and pulls his trousers off one leg, then the other.

He tugs on the tongue of Spencer's belt, undoing it and then slowly pulling it through the belt loops. He uses both hands to pull the button out of the hole, then unzips the fly, tugging Spencer's trousers and underwear off in one pull. Spencer pushes his trousers away with his foot, then uses his toes to slide his sock over his ankle.

A group of students walk down the hall, and Spencer stares at Brendon while they wait for the voices to quiet, for the footsteps to pass. Brendon stares back.

Spencer walks to turn out the lights and Brendon pulls back the edge of the duvet. He slides into bed and holds the blankets up for Spencer to join him.

Spencer runs his hand up and down Brendon's side. Soft skin. Bare skin. Brendon slides his leg in between Spencer's, the easy tangle of their limbs beneath the blankets.

"Maybe it won't always be like this," Brendon says so quietly that Spencer understands his words from the shape of his lips instead of the sound of his voice.

"Ryan said that once," Spencer says, his voice just as soft.

"Do you think he's right?" Brendon asks.

Spencer looks at Brendon's face, his features blurred by the darkness. "I hope so," Spencer says.

Brendon leans forward until their faces are only inches apart. Spencer can't see anything when they're this close, so he closes his eyes.

"If I could," Brendon whispers, "I would choose you. If it were an option, you're what I would choose."

Spencer keeps his eyes closed tightly. His throat is closed off, so he just nods. There's nothing to say, anyway. It is what it is. He chooses Brendon over and over again in the only ways that he can.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
